Convicted

  Today, her fear wasn’t the same—Claire didn’t fear disappointing Tony—she feared losing him. While they waited for Phil to return with his news, she yearned for the simplicity of a life with one goal—to please one man. The obstacles currently before them seemed insurmountable—Emily and John’s safety—Catherine’s plan for vengeance—the authorities—and their safe return to paradise. For a moment, she wished for the two of them alone in the beige walled suite with heavy golden draperies. Never had she imagined those memories would be her go-to safe spot.

  The sound of Phil’s determined steps claimed everyone’s attention. He spoke as soon as he entered the room, “Change of plans—it seems that John and Emily caught an earlier flight. Eric said he just dropped them off at the estate. He didn’t know about the change of plans until Catherine informed him they were going to the airport. This was his first chance to call.” Tony stood, but before he could speak, Phil continued, “There’s something else. Sophia Burke is at the estate.”

  “Why?” Tony asked. “Has Catherine told her the truth?”

  “Eric said that Sophia doesn’t know who Catherine is. The two of them have become friends, and since Derek is out of town with work, Sophia is staying with her friend Catherine.”

  Courtney interjected, “Yes, Derek Burke is with Brent. Remember that meeting in Chicago? Another member of the Rawlings legal team was supposed to go instead of Brent, but she had a conflict, so last night, Brent volunteered to go, but they left early this morning and are coming home this afternoon. Why would Sophia need someplace to stay?”

  Phil shrugged. “We can’t get you to Catherine before the Vandersols arrive.”

  Tony stood straighter. “We need to go now. I don’t trust her alone with them any longer than necessary. Besides, it’s a big house. With the security monitored I should be able to avoid encountering”—he looked toward Claire—“your family. It would be nice if I could get in and out without additional conflict.”

  Phil answered, “I’ll text Eric, and we’ll confirm our meeting point.”

  Claire summoned every mask from her past. She wasn’t trying to hide her feelings—she wanted to be strong for Tony. Hoping that her voice didn’t reveal her insecurities, she said, “Good.”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Claire continued, “The sooner you get this done, the sooner we can get back. Once you’ve secured Emily and John’s safety, if there’s any threat of them calling the authorities, call me. I’ll convince them to give us our year as a family.”

  “No! Claire, you’re not getting close to the estate—you’re not getting involved. We discussed that.” Authority filled every word. He had no intentions of his directive being disobeyed.

  “I know that. I still might be able to help.” Tony’s eyes spoke volumes. It was a look she’d seen too many times. Claire didn’t want to distract him from his objective. She softened her voice. “If you need me—call. I won’t come unless you assure me it’s safe.”

  Gripping her shoulders, he said, “I love you. Your safety isn’t debatable. Do not disappoint me.”

  She stared for only a moment, knowing Tony and Phil needed to leave. The vast darkness pulled her in. His tone sounded like the man from years ago; however, behind the darkness—within the black holes—she saw love—possession—and protection. She wouldn’t look away—she never could. For a split second, she marveled at how warm and secure his gaze made her feel; such a contrast to the memories of coldness. Lifting her face, she brushed her lips on his and replied, “I won’t Tony”—then with a knowing grin, she added—“Don’t disappoint me, either.”

  He hugged her and paused a moment to kiss Nichol, who was laying in Courtney’s arms. His lips lingered on her fine hair, as he seemed to be inhaling her fresh baby scent. Claire fought the lump in her throat as she watched him close his eyes, savoring their daughter. Seconds later, he walked away, saying, “We’ll call when it’s done.”

  They were gone.

  Claire stared at the hallway in silence. Staying strong was no longer necessary. When the empty corridor became blurry, she turned toward Courtney. The tears continued to flow as her anguish came out with each word. Claire wasn’t looking for validation. She knew her statement was correct. Instead, she took comfort in the ability to relay her thoughts honestly and audibly. “Our lives are so fucked up!”

  Courtney’s laughter filled the room. “You certainly do know how to sum it up!”

  “Well, you said you wanted honesty.”

  Sophia excused herself from the dining room, once again marveling at Marie’s home. It didn’t matter how many times she visited, she always found something new. Although she rarely watched television, Sophia enjoyed a good movie—especially the classics. Quietly, she made her way to the lower level and the movie room. As she searched the menu of hundreds—if not thousands of titles—she thought about the couple upstairs, the Vandersols. Marie explained that they were Ms. Nichols’ family, and since her disappearance was still unsolved, they wanted to retrieve some of her things. Truthfully, they were polite enough during lunch, but Sophia couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something happening below the surface. For one thing, they didn’t refer to Marie as Marie; instead, they called her Catherine. Spending a few hours in the theater would allow the Vandersols and Marie, or Catherine, some privacy. It was the least she could do for Marie after all she’d done for her.

  Tony never thought much about Eric. He just was—he always had been. From Tony’s first million, Eric was by his side. In all those years, they’d never sat down and had a heart to heart. He’d never asked Eric about his personal life. Did he even have one? Yet Eric knew Tony’s deepest darkest secrets. Not only did he know, he’d participated, without question, without hesitation—just like a good trustworthy employee. It was true, Eric was paid exceptionally well for his loyalty; however, as Tony and Phil waited in the shadows of an old country church, with the van safely stashed along a side road, Tony wondered if Eric’s devotion had a price—one that could be bought by someone else.

  Phil had made his price known from the beginning. Yes, Tony understood Phil changed allegiances from Catherine for more than money. Tony would be an idiot not to see the man’s devotion to Claire; however, Tony acknowledged that while Phil was unsuccessful at stopping Patrick Chester in California—for weeks on end, he’d kept Claire safe in Europe. Tony also knew that if this were a trap with the FBI waiting—Phil would continue to devote himself to keeping Claire free from harm. Anyone capable of doing that was worth their weight in gold.

  Things with Eric were different. Over the years, his responsibilities morphed and grew with Tony’s expectations. Not once, no matter the directive, could Tony remember Eric disappointing him. Had he ever told Eric he appreciated all he did? Tony couldn’t remember that either. After all, men don’t discuss their feelings regarding one another. More than that—Tony had never given gratitude much thought. Eric had a job—he did it. When everything goes down and Tony turns states evidence, he would not take Eric with him. Most of his activities were done without Eric’s knowledge, and when he was required to participate—it was coerced and done under duress. If asked—that was the story Tony planned to maintain.

  Now, as he watched the dark limousine come into view, Tony wondered if his devotion was truly reciprocated. Could Eric have been bought out? Could Tony and Phil be walking into a trap? They needed to be prepared. Tony leaned toward Phil and whispered, “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Phil’s normal facade cracked. “You came all this way, and you’re not going through with this?”

  “No,” Tony corrected. “When we get to the estate, I want you to go with Eric to the command center of the house. I want you to verify what cameras are working and that the house is free of feds. I also want you to stay with Eric to be sure my encounter is being recorded. Maybe I can get Catherine to talk.”

  The limousine was now rolling to a stop. Tony didn’t need to voice his possible conce
rn of insubordination. Phil understood the hidden meaning. No one person could be trusted. This new plan would assure them of Eric’s honesty.

  Watching Eric get out of the car, Tony hoped that he was only being paranoid. After all, he and Eric had been through a lot; nonetheless, when Eric opened the back compartment, Tony glanced at Phil who nodded in return and touched his side. Tony nodded. Phil had a gun and was willing to use it.

  As Tony stepped passed Eric, he realized how genuinely glad he was to see him. Perhaps life on the run had made him suspicious. Tony patted Eric’s shoulder and said, “Good to see you, my man.”

  With a tip of his head, Eric responded, “And you too, Mr. Rawlings.” It was as if Tony had been gone on a business meeting, not hiding on the other side of the world.

  Once the car moved, Tony began, “Tell us what’s happening at the estate.”

  “Ms. London is preoccupied with her guests. I’m sure, taking the car out for maintenance wasn’t one of her concerns.”

  Phil interjected, “The limo was a smart move—dark windows.”

  “Thank you, sir. I figured I can get the two of you in the garages without any issues.”

  When the gates to the estate opened, the dam on Tony’s anger broke. Previously, it had been held back with thoughts and feelings he didn’t care to visit. Honestly, there were too many other concerns; however, hiding in the back of his limousine, driving through his iron gates, and onto his property—Tony saw red. He couldn’t believe he’d become the victim. He hadn’t been played by some business associate—no, he’d been victimized by the woman he’d trusted for most of his life. If he’d ever wanted revenge—it was now. The fleeting thought of killing Catherine made the tips of his lips rise. Not that he’d ever physically murdered anyone before, but with all he’d done—would the addition of justifiable homicide really matter?

  When the car entered the large garage, Tony said, “I’ll wait here for your call.”

  “Sir,” Eric answered. “The garage cameras, as well as those in the garage to house corridor, stopped working yesterday. We weren’t sure of the issue. Someone is coming to work on them tomorrow.”

  Phil took the lead. “Smart thinking, that’ll help you and me get to the command center. While I get a feel for this fortress’s technology, you can scan the security footage and verify Ms. London’s location as well as Mrs. Burke and the Vandersols, then we’ll call Raw—Mr. Rawlings.”

  It wasn’t their original plan, but Tony was obviously in line with it. Eric had never challenged Tony’s orders, and this wasn’t going to be the first time. “Very well, Mr. Rawlings, please wait for our call.”

  Phil and Eric disappeared through the doorway toward the house. The silence in the empty car was deafening. By the time Phil’s text came, Tony was ready to confront whoever he saw, but with all his might—he wanted it to be Catherine.

  Tony and Eric looked nothing alike, yet they did have a similar build. Wearing Eric’s jacket and cap, Tony kept his head low and walked through the corridor toward the house. Once inside, he’d likely encounter other members of the staff. His plan was to walk by—unnoticed. It took all his concentration to keep his posture dutiful—far from his normal confident gait.

  When Tony passed through the kitchen, two women stood discussing the evening meal. He recognized them immediately; however, as he kept his head and eyes down, they seemed oblivious to his intrusion.

  Each step toward the west corridor became more determined. The dutiful pose forgotten—Anthony Rawlings was on a mission. With his shoulders back and his head high, he advanced toward the grand double doors. This was his office—his command center. Eric’s text a few minutes earlier said that Catherine was in her suite. Tony wondered if in the time it had taken him to get to the office, if by chance he’d find her sitting at his desk. Did she too have rules about entering? Tony didn’t care. He consciously fought the red infiltrating his vision.

  Not only had this woman jeopardized Claire and Nichol’s lives, she’d blatantly lied to his face. He knew he needed to control the rage—this encounter demanded diplomacy. The fleeting thought of murder was nice, but if he could play nice and save the Vandersols—then the FBI would take care of the rest. His desire for physical retaliation would only result in more time away from his family—Catherine wasn’t worth it.

  Pushing the door ajar, he scanned the room. Overall, it was the same—the same cherry paneling, trim, and bookcases. His mahogany desk, which mimicked Nathaniel’s, stood facing the doorway, yet there were subtle differences—picture frames, light colored draperies, and flowers. His masculine domain had taken on a feminine hue. The door to the attached bath was closed. Slowly, he approached the barrier and laid his head upon the wooden door. The only sound he heard was silence. Tony opened the door to find an empty bathroom—Catherine wasn’t here.

  As he eased himself into his chair, behind his desk—he assessed his mission. Suddenly, the pictures on the desk caught his attention. There was one of Nathaniel and Marie. He stared at his grandfather’s likeness; if someone didn’t know better—they’d think it was him. Tony had never seen the photo before, but then again, he couldn’t recall ever going into Catherine’s suite. There was another picture—one that Tony recognized. It was of Sophia as a young girl. Obviously, Catherine had found all the information he and Nathaniel had accumulated and knew that Sophia was her daughter. What kind of game was she playing with Sophia? Was it as dangerous as the one she played with Claire and him or with the Vandersols?

  Eric said that the Vandersols had come to get some of Claire’s things. Would they be in the suite he’d shared with Claire or in her old suite upstairs? Had Phil scanned each monitor and found their location? There were many cameras and each image was relatively short-lived as the monitors rotated their feed—scanning each frame took time.

  As these and many more questions raced through his mind, the door to the office suddenly opened. Catherine casually entered, oblivious to her unexpected company. She didn’t even notice Tony until she looked up. Her initial expression verified her surprise as an audible gasp escaped her lips. Tony instantly knew that Eric could be trusted—he hadn’t set a trap. Quickly, she closed the door behind her. Tony remained silent as Catherine Marie straightened her shoulders and appeared to gather her thoughts. After a prolonged silence, she glared in Tony’s direction and said, “Anton.”

  The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding.

  —Albert Camus

  Tony incredulously stared, wondering what he’d planned to say. Thoughts formed fast and furiously as he rose from the chair and walked slowly toward her. With each step forward, he watched Catherine analyzing his expression. She wanted to know his thoughts, and if he knew her master plan. Striving to keep his gaze indifferent, he stopped inches in front of her. “Good afternoon, Catherine.”

  She exhaled and brought her hands to her chest. “Oh, thank God. I was afraid you were dead. Tell me, where have you been! Did you find Claire?” Each statement came a little quicker than the last.

  He turned and walked back to his desk, contemplating his plan. Shaking his head, he sat and pointed to one of the chairs next to the desk. Her lips tightened into a flat line as she walked toward the seat he’d just assigned. Tony waited for her compliance. Once she was seated, he answered, “I’ve searched everywhere—it’s like she fell of the face of the earth.” Leaning back, he purposely hesitated and furrowed his brow.

  Taking the bait, she asked, “What is it?”

  “She stole our money.”

  “What?”

  “I went to Geneva, and the money Nathaniel left—for us”—he paused—“for you and for me—the bulk of it was gone. To the best of my calculations, she took somewhere over 200 million dollars!”

  “How? How did she know about it? And how have you been able to survive? I mean, when they wouldn’t say if you were alive or dead—I assumed you
were using that money for your search.”

  Tony explained how he made it to Geneva and found the almost empty safety deposit box. The only documentation inside was to a savings account, in his name, with merely half of a million and an unsigned note.

  “Oh, what did the note say?”

  Tony lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. “It said, this time, I’m not walking away empty handed.”

  Catherine gasped. “Oh, Anton, she did leave you. So the reconciliation was bogus—nothing but a sham for your money”—she shook her head—“I’m so sorry. Did you keep looking?”

  Blood rushed to Tony’s cheeks as he fought his emotion—fought to continue the charade—as he fought the red. Although Catherine probably assumed the rage that threatened to erupt was meant towards Claire—the true recipient was a mere few feet away. Pounding his fist against the desk, he replied, “Of course I did! She’s alive and took my money!”

  Catherine leaned toward him, her voice only a whisper, “Anton, lower your voice.”

  His tone softened, yet remained equally determined, “I’ll scream from the damn rooftops if I want.”

  “I have guests. You don’t want anyone to find you, do you? Last I heard, if you’re alive, then you’re a wanted man.”

  Enunciating each word, he asked, “Guests? Who Catherine? Who’s here?”

  Catherine glanced toward her hands. As she hesitated, he took in the woman before him. When she first entered the room, he’d been preoccupied, now he saw her—really saw her. Just like his office—she too had changed. The transformation wasn’t dramatic, not one stark difference; however, it was like the picture Roach showed them months ago. Her hair was shorter, more stylish, and the color was lighter—she wore more make-up than before—and her clothes were nicer than he’d ever seen her wear. Without a doubt, the changes made her appear younger and more confident. She no longer gave the air of house hold staff—Catherine looked like the lady of the manor.